number22 | (no subject)

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freddie

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Without the money from Todd Chad, the work is certainly different.

It's more violent, for one, with Philip taking whatever he can get. It's usually something as simple as delivering a warning, roughing someone up, making sure to leave behind a few good bruises before he walks off into the night, and it's not as if he isn't used to it, he's done far worse things for money, but he'd had things so easy for a time.

Still, he has plenty of money at the moment and so he's not particularly concerned about his financial state. The work is harder and he'd quite enjoyed coasting, but there's a fair bit of enjoyment to be had in all this as well. To be had in wrapping his arm around someone's throat from behind and pulling them into the shadows where he can deliver a few well placed blows in near silence.

That isn't what he's doing tonight, though he supposes the job is just as illegal. There are four different men who owe money to a certain loan shark in the city and in this case, Philip's job hasn't been to rough them up or break their fingers or anything violent at all, although he's delivering a message all the same. Over the course of the night, he's broken into three different homes and left a framed family portrait in the middle of the kitchen or dining room table. On each photograph, a red line had been drawn across the throat of the man's wife and any children he has.

It's a little dramatic and silly, but Philip is being paid to deliver the portraits and so he does.

He's just finished the last and is easing his way out of the house when he realizes he's not entirely alone. There's someone on the street and although he can't be entirely certain, he thinks he may have been seen.

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"No," he answers, his smirk widening bit by bit, and he looks at Freddie with an arched eyebrow. "I'm finished for the evening. Are you looking for someone to escort you home?"

He almost makes some joke about it being a dangerous neighbourhood, how Freddie can't possibly know who might be out and about on a night like tonight, but he keeps it to himself. There's already a skittish sort of sense about Freddie right now and the last thing Philip wants is to chase him off. There's nothing fun in that, after all.

Besides, it isn't as if there's anything Freddie might do to have Philip turned on him by anyone in the city. Even if he were to be offered that sort of job, he'd most likely turn it down.

Truth or not, Freddie's strangely relieved by the response. Some of the tension eases from his shoulders and he lets out a breath, lips twitching into a small, hopeful (and perhaps slightly uncertain) grin.

"D'pends," he says, cocking his head as he hikes the strap of his bag higher up on his shoulder, his gaze dropping to the cigarette Philip's still toying with. "Share your fag?"

Freddie's not really much of a smoker, honestly. Not outside of a bit of weed, that is. But he's found he indulges a bit more often in things he wouldn't ordinarily when he's around Philip. For better or for worse. It's likely someone else might judge him for such a thing, but it's not a though he's told anyone about Philip. Not really. What would he even say?

The smirk grows wider still as he takes another drag from his cigarette and then holds it out to Freddie, pinched between two of his fingers. He'll never make apologies for what he does, he sees no point in it, because either people are going to be comfortable with it or they won't be and nothing he says or does will alter their view. What he keeps under wraps, he does so as not to get caught, not because he cares what someone else thinks, but it's good to know he's not going to lose contact with everyone in Darrow over his work.

It's not as if he can just leave town and start over, after all.

"Alright then," he says, nodding down the street in the way Freddie had been walking. "Where is it you're working?"

It's not likely Freddie has told him, Philip tends to remember even the smallest details, because they usually come in handy at some point or another. And work is one of the places he's never followed Freddie, having relaxed somewhat on that activity in recent months.

There's something about Philip, something about his face and the way he carries himself, that has him always coming off as somewhat predatory. Strange as it may be, Freddie considers it one of his more alluring attributes, the twisted grin on Philip's face sending a warmth all through his spine.

He reaches for the cigarette, plucking it from Philip's fingers and taking a deep drag, his gaze intent all the while.

"Styx," he answers on the exhale, his head tipped back to breathe a plume of smoke into the air, nodding vaguely in the direction he's come. "Gay bar about a mile back. Ever heard of it?"

It's possible Philip's stopped in once or twice on a night Freddie's not been working, but he's certainly not a regular. Freddie would know in that case. There's no way for him not to notice when Philip's about.

"I've been there once or twice," he answers with a nod, although not for some time. The experiences he's had there have been perfectly serviceable, but he finds he doesn't enjoy the pounding music or the bright, flashing lights. Perhaps it's that, no matter how much he tries to integrate, he's still simply a product of his time, but he's not too bothered by that reality.

"What is it you do there?" he asks.

When it comes to Freddie, the truth is that they really don't know much about each other. Philip has followed him a few times, that much is true, but it had been more about finding who else he was spending time with than truly getting to know him. He can imagine Freddie doing just about anything.

It's not a question Philip's bothered to ask before and, if he's honest, Freddie's a bit surprised it's come up now. Maybe he shouldn't be. With nearly anyone else, the question would have come up months ago, likely before they'd fallen into bed with one another.

Part of him wonders why Philip wants to know now.

"It's a bar," he points out, tipping his head to the side and giving Philip a coy little grin. "What d'you think I do there?"

Philip pauses, glancing over at Freddie, his gaze lingering over his narrow frame before he says, "Must be a bouncer, right?"

His voice is teasing, but he knows there are plenty of jobs that can be done at any bar, let alone one that seems to have as much going on in it as Styx does. He could be in the background, running alcohol, washing glasses or serving drinks himself. For all Philip knows, he's the bloody janitor.

"Or does that place have those cages were a man can dance?" he asks, still teasing. "I could see you doing something like that in the right costume."

Freddie huffs a laugh at that gentle dig; they both know how unlikely it is for Freddie to ever be a bouncer. And, given his entire lack of rhythm, he'll not be dancing in any cages either. Even if Styx were the kind of bar to have them.

"I tend the bar," he says finally with a teasing roll of his eyes. "That's not so hard to believe, is it?"

It might have been at the start. Freddie'd had to learn most of what he knew on the job and there'd been a few months were Ricky seemed to be regretting his decision. But now, well... he could make a living on his tips alone, if he's honest.

"No, it's not so hard to believe," Philip answers. "Suppose that means you know how to make my favourite drink."

He's still mostly giving Freddie a hard time, it isn't as though his favourite drink -- whiskey, straight -- is particularly difficult to make. Mostly he wants to see if Freddie pays attention to what he drinks when they're together.

And then his gaze wanders, moving over Freddie slowly as he pretends to consider how he looks before saying, "And I bet you make a killing when it comes to your tips, don't you?"

"Dunno," he replies, relaxing slowly into the familiar flirtation as he takes half a step closer to Philip. He's not forgotten that he's just seen Philip skulking about someone else's house, but it's easy enough to ignore for the moment. Particularly when Philip is looking at him like that. "Pouring whiskey's a bit tricky now and then. Might spill."

He lingers over the words, speaking them with more innuendo than remotely necessary as his gaze drops to Philip's front and he reaches a hand out to tug at his shirt.

"I do make a killing," he affirms, dragging his finger up the front buttons as he tips his head to the side coyly. "Turns out old gay men like looking at young, half-naked boys while they drink. But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"Depends on how distracted you are, I suppose," Philip answers, looking amused as Freddie tugs at his shirt. Not all that long ago, he'd looked a little nervous, as if he might be entirely rethinking the decision to be involved with Philip at all, but whatever that was, it seems to be gone.

At least for now. Perhaps he'll consider what he's just seen down the line and change his mind again, but Philip is happy enough to live in the now.

"I wouldn't, given that I'm neither old or gay," he says with a smirk. It's not a denial of who he is, but he simply isn't gay, the sort to enjoy women just as enthusiastically as he does men. "I do know I enjoy looking at you and fuck what anyone else likes, to be quite honest."

Edited 2017-07-08 15:19 (UTC)

Freddie responds with a roll of his eyes, sliding his fingers higher still to the top button, snapping it free before working lower to the next one.

"Yes, yes, don't want to give you the wrong label, do I?" he says with a grin. After all, Freddie's not gay either, but he's never bothered much with labeling him one thing over another. He likes fucking. He likes people. Doesn't much matter to him what's in their pants.

"But you are old," he insists, still with a smirk. "Don't worry, it doesn't make me want to fuck you any less, but you might as well accept it."

He almost points out that Freddie isn't that much younger than he is, but the reality is that he looks as if he is, as if he's younger than his years, and Philip doesn't truly care all that much at the end of it. The opinions of others have never much mattered to him one way or the other.

"Terribly shocking I can even participate in such activities, isn't he?" he asks, still smirking, watching as Freddie unbuttons his shirt. They're in the middle of the sidewalk, but it's late and it's dark, and he doubts anyone will see them.

But that, too, is one more thing he doesn't care about.

"It is," Freddie agrees with a smirk, playing right along. "Admirable, really. I can only hope I'm still keeping up as well as you in ten years time."

He's undone three buttons now, leaving Philip's shirt billowing a bit. Warm as it is, he doubts Philip's in any chilly, but they're still rather out in the open. It's not as though there are many people out wandering the streets this time of night and it i's rather dark, but it's quite public.

That doesn't stop Freddie from dropping his hand then, curling it carefully around the bulge in Philip's trousers and giving a light fondle. "Don't even have to take pills, do you?" he asks, voice still low and teasing. "Very impressive."

"Not the sorts of pills you're thinking," Philip answers with a slow grin, letting Freddie touch him without doing the slightest thing in return. It's deeply arousing, he finds, just to stand there and let himself be touched in the middle of this street, the sort where someone going for a late night walk with their dog isn't beyond the realm of possibility.

The same street where he's just committed a crime not very long ago.

Well on his way to fully hard, Philip presses his hips forward just a little, but still doesn't touch Freddie. Instead he leans in slightly, close enough that his lips just barely brush the skin of Freddie's ear when he speaks.

"Course, I doubt anyone would need any sort of help in this moment," he says, his voice low. "You like this, touching me. Halfway to having my trousers off in the middle of the street. Some lonely housewife could part her curtains at any moment and get quite the show."

Philip lightly rocks forward, pressing himself into the cup of Freddie's palm and Freddie curls his fingers a little tighter, feeling out the heft of him, the thickening of his shift as he hardens.

"That what you're hoping for?" Freddie asks, watching Philip through lowered lashes as he drags his fingertips up to the fastening of Philip's trousers. He doesn't snap it open right away, only toying with it as he plays with the fall of Philip's shirt with his other hand, sneaking beneath to get to warm skin. "Want to put on a show for a lonely housewife?"

He glances beyond Philip's shoulder then, down the road where Philip had come from. He wonders if it's a lonely housewife Philip's just visited, wonders if his reasons for being out here are more personal than professional. More merely unethical rather than illegal.

"Fuck the lonely housewife," Philip answers before he finally lifts a hand, sliding it along the smooth edge of Freddie's jaw and leaning in to capture his mouth in a kiss at the same time. There's nothing gentle in it, no slow build from something appropriate for the middle of the street, he simply jumps in as far as they've already come, the kiss hot and wet, a groan slipping into Freddie's mouth.

It'd be a risk and he doesn't need to get arrested now, especially given what he's just gone, but he thinks he'd happily fuck Freddie right here. Back him up against a nearby fence or find some patio furniture in one of these ridiculous suburban back yards and bend him over.

Anything, really. Freddie does have a tendency to unravel his self-control.

Freddie laughs, the sound cut off by the press of Philip's lips and muffled by the push of his tongue. It's a demanding kiss, nothing soft about it, and Freddie curves under the force of it, pressing his hips in close, his hand still trapped between them, fingers curved around Philip's length through his trousers.

"Rather not," he manages once he can catch a bit of air, sliding the fingers of his other hand higher up Philip's side, grabbing at the meat of him. "Not much interested in her, really."

He's still close enough to bite at Philip's lip and so he does, his body thrilling at the idea of copping off in the middle of the road, right out in the open where anyone could wander by. It's dangerous, doubly so given that he's fairly certain Philip's likely just done something illegal, but that only makes it more exciting.

Christ, is he fucked.

Hooking his thumb over the button of Philip's trousers, he tugs it free then, enough to tug at the zip and sneak his hand inside, grinning wider. "Or maybe you already fucked her, yeah? Took care of her while her husband's out for the night. She not satisfy you, is that it?"

While Philip's not against fucking another man's wife -- or a woman's husband, truly -- he's of the mind that the boring sort of housewives he's seen plenty of in the area aren't quite what he's looking for. They'd be good to manipulate, to fuck around with until he got them good and hooked on who he was and what he offered, and then he'd probably be able to convince them to do just about anything for him.

But when it comes to true satisfaction, he can't imagine they'd be even half of what he wants.

"I feel satisfied to you?" he asks, pushing his free hand up under the material of Freddie's shirt, seeking the warmth of his skin. With a roll of his hips, he presses the length of his cock into Freddie's hand, driving himself against the heat of his grip. "Tell me, does that feel like a man who wants to just head home for a little nap?"

There isn't a bit of Philip that seems keen on slowing down, his cock hot and hard in Freddie's grip as he rolls his hips forward. Freddie bites back a groan at the feel of it, twists his wrist to carefully get a better hold, lightly toying with the foreskin with the pad of his thumb.

"Feels like a man who wants to fuck," he agrees, enjoying the weight of the words on his tongue just as he's fairly certain he'll soon enjoy the weight of Philip's cock.

Licking his lips, he tips his head to the side, lips a breath from Philips as he jerks him slowly from base to tip. "You drive out here?"

"Walked," Philip answers and he knows damn well they're not walking all the way back to his flat, not when he's half-undressed already and well on his way to getting at more of Freddie's skin.

"This way," he says, moving suddenly. He has to use one hand to hold up his trousers, but he surveys a few of the nearest houses, finds one he's sure is empty, then tugs Freddie toward the gated yard. There's a fair few hedges and bushes, as well as a secluded area toward the back where he can see patio furniture. It's well hidden from the neighbours and the house itself -- likely to give the inhabitants privacy from any nosy children -- and it's more or less exactly what Philip has been looking for.

He's goddamn lucky is what he is, though he thinks at this point he would have happily fucked Freddie in a bloody bush for the privacy it would allow.

Freddie's a bit disappointed at the response if only because he's not to keen on walking back to his place or Philip's just now, but at least Philip seems to be of the same mind as he grabs at Freddie and starts pulling him off the path and into someone's front garden.

It's a secluded little nook, at least, with the hedges tall enough to shield them both from the street and from the windows of the house itself. Given the angle to one singular window of the house next door, they might still be seen, but it's also nearing two in the morning and Freddie doubts there likely to be seen unless they make quite a bit of noise.

Laughing, Freddie lets himself be pulled into the little area, the bushes tall enough to block out the moonlight as they step further in.

"How romantic," he remarks with a grin, going for Philip's trousers once again. He wastes no time now, yanking them open enough to slide down Philip's arse before wrapping one hand around the length of him, squeezing with purpose. "My mouth then? That what you want?"

"Your pretty mouth," Philip agrees with a low groan, one hand sliding back up to Freddie's jaw, his thumb brushing along his lower lip before he moves back in for another kiss. With certain people in Darrow, he mostly doesn't use sex as a way to manipulate them, as a way to gain power, and Freddie is one of the few. With him, Philip wants whatever he can get, he wants to fuck Freddie, to feel his mouth, to be fucked if that's what it comes to.

Here in someone's private little garden, a blowjob is probably best and easiest, but he slides his other hand between them, his palm pressing against Freddie's cock through his jeans, and he knows he isn't going to just leave him wanting either. They're both going to enjoy themselves tonight.

Even now, he wants to tip his head back and moan, but he knows if they don't want to be caught, they ought to keep their voices down as best they can. Philip is dangerous, is willing to do things others aren't, but he isn't stupid and he knows nothing good will come of having the police called on them.

Never one to simply take, Philip sneaks a hand between them, curling thick fingers around Freddie through his trousers. Instinctively, Freddie presses forward, rocking into the heat of his palm while biting back a groan, his eyes locked on Philip's.

As good as it feels, Freddie doesn't let himself indulge for long. Philip's made it clear what he wants and Freddie's eager to give him just that, tilting his hips away with a grin before carefully sinking to his knees. The grass is soft beneath his knees and Freddie's spares only a moment to the fact that they're likely to get stained by the end of this before setting his focus entirely on dragging Philip's underpants lower, hooking them below the swell of his balls as he leans in to drag his tongue up along the underside of him.

He keeps his gaze trained upward, barely making out the whites of Philip's eyes in the darkness as he purses his lips around the flared tip of him, sucking and lapping at the ridge as he gently pulls the loose skin back, humming at the bittersweet taste already beading there.

Though he might miss the feeling of Freddie's cock pressing into his palm, Philip lets him slip away, because this is what he'd asked for, after all. It's for the best that they don't get completely undressed, just in case they have to run off at any point, but he wishes anyway that they'd met a little closer to home or that the chance of getting a cab in this neighbourhood at this time of night wasn't so utterly slim. Instead of being able to get Freddie undressed in the comfort of his home, he instead buries his fingers on Freddie's hair, his other hand falling to his shoulder as a low groan slips out of him.

He's so good at this and although Philip isn't above comparing, especially for the sake of manipulation, there are a few here and there who are exempt from it. In the moment like this, when he's with Freddie, he doesn't think of anyone else, doesn't consider who else might be just as good as he is because it doesn't matter. It's rare for him to admit to it, but it just doesn't matter. Not now.

"Christ, Freddie," he breathes in the dark and he wishes just a little that the owners of this private place had thought to put a bit of soft lighting perhaps, but he supposes that might do away with a bit of a secret. And so he simply waits, letting his eyes adjust until he can see Freddie before him on his knees, until he can see the head of his dick sliding past his lips and the mere sight of it pulls a sharp pang of pleasure through him.